Doing Time
by saberivojo
Summary: Dean gets hurt on a hunt but who is to blame?  Growly!John, Hurt!Dean, Capable!Sam
1. Chapter 1

Title: Doing Time

Author: Saberivojo

Characters: Sam, Dean and John

Summary: Dean gets hurt on a hunt but who is to blame?

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Sam had been begging for one month to go to camp. Dad thought it was a stupid idea. It didn't matter that it would help in every single class. His guidance counselor suggested it because this school had some strange participation grade and since Sam came into school so late in the year, Sam thought he needed it. Of course what Sam thought and what Dad thought were at totally different ends of the spectrum. And really, Sam was sure that whatever he thought carried no weight anyway. The only reason Dad fell for it all was because they offered archery. It was the thought that maybe Sam would be able to improve his crossbow skills that was the deciding factor. That and that Dad needed Dean on a hunt. So Sam could be babysat in the woods with counselors and fire rings but only because it fit into John Winchester's game plan. No matter, Sam had a weekend without hunting and Dad. He planned on enjoying every second.

So night number two, Saturday. And the kids are sitting around the fire. The counselors are telling ghost stories, which almost makes Sam laugh out loud. But the night is warm, the stars are bright and if he looks away from the brightness of the fire, something that his father had drilled into him regarding night vision, he can see clearly into the woods. So he moves to the back of the circle, deeper into the woods, lays up against a tree, sinks into the cool, mossy ground. The counselor isn't really a bad storyteller but the Hookman story is one Sam can recite backwards and forwards. Not to mention the guy only has part of the facts right so he just put his head back and tried to zone out. Just relax. And maybe because he is so relaxed, he almost doesn't hear the low hoot owl off to his right. Soft but low, as in sitting on the ground low and that makes no sense at all. Owls did not hoot on the ground.

Suddenly he is very aware, every sense straining into the night, a moment later he hears a slurred "Sammy." And with that Sam backs further away from the fire and into the woods.

It only takes a moment for him to find Dean.

Dean is leaning up against a tree, much like Sam had been a moment ago, but his head is nodding towards his chest in away that seems less relaxed and more exhausted.

Sam scrambles to Dean, hands carefully palpating through down his flannel shirt. "Dean, Jesus, Dean are you okay?"

"M'ok, Sam, Just wanted to check on your sorry ass, s'all"

Sam continues his brief triage. "Fuck, Dean, you are bleeding here. Really bleeding. Where the hell is Dad?"

Sam pulls a bandana from his pocket. It is pretty clean, not perfect, but Sam wants to stop the blood. He quickly folds it into a crude four by four and pushes it against Dean's left shoulder, he pushes hard and is actually satisfied by the hiss as Dean exhales. "Fuck, Sam getthehelloffame." Sam ignores Dean, continues on in his mental checklist of injuries.

"Dean, what'cha got here?" Sam reaches around to the back of Dean's shirt, doesn't feel any kind of an exit wound.

"Just a scrape li'l brother." But Dean is slurring his words, his head lolls even further down and he slumps onto Sam's shoulder. Dean is out for the count, and in the woods, with no back up and no idea what went wrong, Sam feels like just he should just yell up to the campfire to tell someone to call 911. But Sam is a Winchester, and like it or not, family rules run deep, protect each other not only from the shit that goes bump in the night, but from regular people who might not quite understand why Sam is holding his bleeding brother in the middle of the woods at camp Whathefucka or what ever this place is called.

So he checks his brother's carotid. Feels his pulse strong and steady under his fingertips. Good pulse. And he listens carefully, but Dean is breathing a little shallow but strong and despite the blood seeping through the handkerchief, he hasn't lost enough blood to expect him to be bleeding out. What the fuck is going on? Sam reaches around and feels the egg shaped lump on the back of Dean's head, well, that would account for the unconsciousness. Shit where in the hell is dad and what the fuck happened"

Sam slides his hand into Dean's inner jacket pocket and feels for the cell phone that should be there. He pulls it out and frantically dials his father.

Sam hears a distant ring, amazed there is any reception here and then a moment later

"Where the fuck are you?"

"Dad, it's Sam." 

"SAM!" Dad is almost bellowing even with the tinny reception.

"Put your brother on the line. Now."

And Sam actually thinks about handing the cell to Dean because fuck, Dad sounds mad and when he says things like** now**, he usually means it. "Dad, Dean's hurt, probably a concussion, he is bleeding from what looks like a puncture wound and he is unconscious."

"He is with you? – At the camp? Christ Sam, that's a good 20 miles from here. Sam. Keep him stable, stay with him. And for chrisakes, keep him awake. I'll be there as quick as I can."

The line goes dead and isn't that just like Dad. Sure, screw the singing (and yes they are singing in the background now) campfire campers. Screw the fact that Dean is slumped over in the woods and just figure it out, Sam. Wake him the fuck up, Sam. Do what you got to do.

Sam knows his position here is vulnerable. Too close to the camp, not enough cover to keep Dean hidden, not enough of anything really. There is an abandoned cabin about ½ mile through the woods. It was really not much more than a storage shed, but if he could get Dean there, he could at least be able to set up a perimeter.

Sam leans over Dean, he whispers low "Dean, Dean, c'mon, we gotta get our asses out of here."

Dean moans low but doesn't respond. "Dean! Get you ass up!" Sam tries for a John Winchester – like command but he is fourteen for crying out loud and he just doesn't have the growl. Well, shit. He was so hoping not to do this. Sam reached under Dean's coat again, pushes a little on the mostly stopped puncture wound.

"Shhiiittfuuckwhatareyourdoin" That elicits a response and Dean jerks his head back slamming it against the tree.

"Sorry, Dean. This position's not safe. We gotta move." Sam reaches under Dean and tries to pull-drag his brother upright. Dean struggles to get his feet under him then leans his weight on Sam. Sam is strong, small but strong, still Dean feels like a ton of bricks against his shoulder. Sam slings arm behind his brother's belt, uses the leather to help hold him upright.

"So, Sammy, howareya doin'? I was worried about ya." Dean mumbles low as they stagger step toward the general area of the cabin.

"M'fine, Dean. You know. Camp. Swimming. Arts and Crafts. Pony rides if you are really good. Not that big of a deal." Sam shakes his head but continues pushing his brother along.

"Well, Sammy, you can never tell. 'Cause there is shit everywhere. Even out here." Dean nods vaguely in the direction of the camp where the sounds of singing have long since faded.

Dean pauses, leans a bit more on Sam. "Where the fuck is Dad?" Dean seems totally and utterly confused, his head drops a bit more.

"How about we just take a li'l break, Sammy. M'so fuckin' tired." Dean stops forward momentum, just plain stops and Sam thinks he may not be able to get him going again.

"Dean, you can't stop now. The cabin is not too far off."

Dean sways and Sam starts to feel the full weight of his brother against him.

"DEAN!" Sam barks sharp and quick and it snaps his brother's head up, his eyes focusing for a second on Sam.

"Dad is coming, and you better have your ass at that cabin when he gets here. He sounded pissed, Dean. Really pissed so you better get your shit together and move it."

The threat of pissed dad seems to add incentive. Dean straightens up, pulls a little more weight off of his brother and keeps his head more vertical.

There's no more talking, just Sam and Dean's labored breathing. Dean from trying to stand upright and walk, Sam from trying to hold the weight of his heavy-as-shit brother up.

Sam tries to readjust Dean; he can feel the blood seeping through the makeshift bandage. It is running warm and slick down his fingers that are looped around Dean's belt. He thinks for a moment about stopping to check it, but the possibility of losing forward momentum just seems too great.

"C'mon, Dean. Stop being such a pansy assed girl. We' re almost there but if you can't walk a fuckin' straight line, it is gonna take us forever."

Dean throws a look at Sam, with just enough Dean attitude to give Sam hope.

"Fuck. You."

"There ya go. Dean. That's what we need." And Sam grins in spite of the situation and the blood dripping down his arm.

Suddenly, the cabin is ahead of them and Sam doesn't think he has ever been so happy to see a shitty cabin. He struggles up to the door, notices the rusty pad lock that holds the latch. For a minute Sam contemplates kicking the door in, but he opts instead to prop Dean up against the door and pull his set out of his jacket. Sam snickers to himself, Dean is such a boy scout, always prepared. It is open in a second, Sam is good at this, he pushes the door open and it swings in, offering a tiny cabin with a lone bed up against the wall, paint cans and tools taking up most of the space.

Sam retrieves Dean's slumping body and drag shuffles him to the bed. Carefully he tries to lay Dean down, but his body is big and once he starts heading down gravity takes over and he lands with a chuff. Dust billows from around the sagging mattress.

"Oww."

"Oww? that's all you got, Dean." But Sam grabs a chair and slides it up to his brother.

He reaches over, touches Dean's forehead briefly with the back of his hand checking for fever. Dean lazily swats Sam's hand away.

"Leme alone."

"Sure, Dean."

Sam reaches under the jacket, notices the bleeding is slowing down again. A moment later Dean starts to drift off.

Sam calls Dad, gives him the coordinates of the cabin. He should be here soon fifteen minutes tops.

"Dean, Dad's on his way. Wake up, Dude. I think you will have some explaining to do."

"Just worried 'bout you, Sam. It's all good."

"Hey, Dean. Did ja'get it?"

"Yeah. Got it."

There in this dusty cabin, with his brother still bleeding slightly into a bandana it occurs to Sam that this could only be Winchester thing. This was fucking camp for chrisakes. CAMP and here he is waiting for his father to show up, to patch up Dean and to send Sam back to a fire circle of campers. Still, Dean got it. Whatever it was, Dad and Dean got it so it shouldn't feel this bad.

Except it kind of does.

It shouldn't have to be this way. He is a camp. He is not even on a fucking hunt and still it comes to him.

He watches his brother's rhythmic breathing and thinks it is okay. Really weird. Fucked up. But okay.

He shakes his head, sighs and listens for the familiar sound of the Impala growling up to the cabin.

Whatever


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Doing Time

Author: Saberivojo

Characters: Sam, Dean and John

Summary: Dean gets hurt on a hunt but who is to blame? Growly!John, Hurt!Dean, Capable!Sam

XX

Sam isn't shocked that Dad makes it to the abandoned shack in 10 instead of 15. And while he doesn't hear the Impala skid onto the crush and run that marks the makeshift driveway in front of this cabin, he can hear the gravel shower up on to the front of the cabin door. Sam is kind of glad that Dean has dropped off, because he would be pissed as hell at Dad for possibly dinging his girl up like road rash.

Dad shoulders through the door like a tornado, face dark and intense. But he is not yelling which is a good thing. It is like he is all forward momentum trying desperately to be still. That in itself is a miracle….John Winchester does not have that self monitoring part of the brain that tells him he is stepping over the line. Or maybe he has it, but chooses to ignore it. Whatever the reason, Sam is glad that dad finds the discipline to calm himself briefly before he reaches Dean.

He drops quietly to Dean's side, mirror's Sam's triage earlier. Carotid, checks his breathing and bleeding. Lightly palpates down his ribs. Gently reaches behind his head to feel for the lump. He nods to himself or maybe to Sam.

"Good job, Sam."

Sam looks stunned at the compliment. The old man doesn't offer accolades very often. Sam feels the heat of a blush up his neck and cheeks. He is thankful there is little or no light in this cabin. He drops his chin, embarrassed by three simple words.

"Dean." Dad's voice is low and not particularly harsh but the one word pulls Dean out of sleep.

"Sir?" Dean sounds confused but opens his eyes, and Sam watches as he meets his fathers gaze. It is a little unfocused. But it looks like he is trying.

"How'd the hell did this happen, son?" Again, Dad is not being mean but he wants answers. Dad pulls the jacket back to reveal the puncture wound that Sam has field dressed.

Dean sounds tired. "Dunno, Dad. Didn't realize it. Not at first anyway.

For the first time, Dad lets a little edge creep into his voice. "You have a fuckin' hole in your shoulder, Dean. How the hell do you not notice a fuckin' hole in your shoulder?"

Dean seems to wince a Dad's words. And right there, Sam starts to get mad. Yeah, Dean fucked it up, but he is hurt and why can't the old man just fix him up and tear him a new one when Dean can at least sit up.

"C'mon, Dad. Save the Spanish Inquisition till he's feeling better." Sam grates it out, laces it with disrespect and insolence.

Dad turns his head so sharp Sam swears he hears something break. "What did you say to me?"

Sam pulls him self up to his full five foot nothing height. Lifts his chin. "I said to leave him alone, Dad. He's out of it. Any answers you are gonna get will be fucked up anyway."

Sam can see the anger roll off his father, it flashes through Sam's mind kind of irrationally that if he could see auras his father's would be black. Black and boiling and heading straight toward Sam. Sam takes an unconscious step back. It kind of pisses him off that his father hasn't made a move in his general direction and still Sam can't hold his ground.

There is a good ten second break, where Sam can actually see his father pulling back, maybe counting to ten or twenty or something. Oh, he is still plenty pissed but he is reining it in, kind of like a pit bull that has come to the edge of his chain and realizes there is nothing to do but wait it out.

"I am not doing this now, Sam. WE are not doing this now. Get out in the Impala and bring in the kit. Make sure you leave that attitude out there before you step back in here again. Got it?"

Sam pivots almost in an about face and starts toward the door. "Sam. I mean it. Do you understand?"

Dad's voice is quiet but he expects an answer.

Sam is facing the other way, hand almost on the door. "Yes, sir. Got it." He rips open the door as hard as he can, slams it solidly behind him. The walk to the Impala is only a step or two, but Sam feels the tears well up. The man makes him so fuckin' mad. Mad enough to hit something or somebody. And to top it all off, Sam doesn't even have the balls to tell the old man to go fuck himself. Yes, sir. No, sir. Aye, aye, sir.

Well fuck. It. All.

But he will not give Dad the satisfaction of seeing him cry so he shakes his head hard and wills the tears to stop. No way is he gonna cry like some baby. Just because his Daddy makes him mad. Winchesters don't cry. Not at all. And that is a Dean rule, not a Dad rule. No chick flick moments, Sam. Shut the fuck up.

He opens the trunk, locates the med kid and briefly thinks his father was a moron for not bringing it in when he came in the cabin anyway. That makes him feel a little better for some reason. Yeah, it feels good to know that John Winchester stupidly left his kit in the car while his son is bleeding in the cabin. Of course, that isn't fair either, because Sam knows dad just wanted to get into to Dean. To check him out himself.

Whatever.

He takes a deep breath. Takes another. Because Dad meant it when he said leave the attitude outside. And Sam doesn't know if he can do that, but Dean sure as hell doesn't need a knock down drag out fight tonight so for Dean he will do it. And honestly, Sam has spent most of his teenage years covering up shit, so what does one more lie make in a lifetime of lies.

He opens the door and walks back into to the cabin.

Sam stops next to his father, does his best to make his face as expressionless as possible and hands him the kit.

Dad takes it without even acknowledging Sam. "Gimme some help here, Sam. Let's get his jacket off and take a look." Dad doesn't look at Sam, doesn't offer any kind of encouraging remarks to Dean. He just expects Sam to do what he says and expects Dean to deal. And both Sam and Dean do. He slides in behind his brother and helps support his back while he and his father gently remove Dean's jacket. Dean moans a little when his shoulder is jostled but otherwise remains pretty stoic about the whole thing.

Dad grimly looks at the field dressing, lifts the corner to evaluate the puncture wound. Since Dean seems to have no idea what it is or how it happened, John splashes holy water into the wound, looks satisfied when there is no burning or bubbling. The only real response is Dean's slightly arched brow, "It didn't slash me or anything, Dad." Dean sounds a little sullen and a little embarrassed at the same time.

"Well, son, if you can come up with some kind of scenario as to what the fuck might have happened, I would sure as hell love to hear it."

Dean drops his eyes, and it looks to Sam like he is trying to hard not to hear the not so subtle order in his father's voice.

John pulls the dressing off completely, starts to unbutton Dean's flannel shirt. Dean tries to bat his father's hand away, but John is persistent. "Ya only got one arm that works, Dean. If you aren't goin' to offer any information as to how the hell this happened, then you damn well better stop fightin' me while I'm trying to figure it out."

Dean stills. Allows his father to unbutton and remove his shirt. Sam helps, carefully pulling it off and drops it on the musty bed. Shirtless, the shoulder hole looks worse, still sluggishly seeping blood, angry and deep, a good size hole that looks painful as shit. Dad has already checked for an exit wound, just like Sam did. Nothing. Dad pulls the saline and flushes the wound with copious amounts of it. The salt water pours back out on to the bed, leaving a trail of pink and red that stream down Dean's chest. Dad washes his hands with antiseptic then moves to gently exploring the wound.

Dean hisses with pain. Takes a deep gasping breath when Dad prods a little hard. "Fuck, Dad. Why don't you use a hot poker?"

Dad pulls his hand out of Dean's shoulder. "Okay, son. That's it. Spill now or you and I are gonna dance, bad wing or no. I can't fix what I don't know is wrong. And I could have sworn when I told you to head on back to the Impala, you were hole-less. Back to the Impala, remember that? And instead you walk your sorry, concussed holey self in the fucking opposite direction to find Sam. Maybe we need to review chain of command. Maybe we need a sit down on why the hell you do what I tell you to do when I tell you to do it."

Dad is still pretty quiet, but he is using the voice that means he has had it. And John Winchester has the patience and irritability of a hungry bear with a thorn in his paw. Even Sam pays attention to that voice. It is often the precursor to something that ends in Sam running laps or his shoulders aching with pushups. Once in while a good old fashioned what for. So yeah, Sam is listening. He figures Dean is too because he tilts his head in his father's direction, meets his eyes directly. But he holds his gaze for just a moment, then drops his chin, eyes studying the pink and red streams that are drying on his chest.

Dean isn't a coward. Sam knows that like the smell of gun oil. Dean will stick up for himself, sometimes, but more often than not he will stick up for Sam. Sam has seen Dean go after shit that would make other men quake. And while Dean may be a bit wary of John, he isn't afraid of his father so Sam doesn't quite get the look. The inability to hold John's gaze. What could have Dean so worried that he won't answer a direct question? Especially when it is phrased as an order. An order with the threat of physical discomfort if it is not heeded. Sam kind of smiles a bit, Dad would no more kick Dean's ass while he is laying in a bed with a hole in his shoulder than he would take up belly dancing as a hobby. No, Dean is safe but the fact that Dad threatened was usually enough for either boy to realize the seriousness of the situation.

But Dad drops it for a moment. Either because he really doesn't want a knock down drag out fight with his wounded son or maybe because he doesn't want to lose the argument. Sam smiles a bit at that too; that

Dad doesn't lose well either.

Dad continues to irrigate the wound. Pushes the edges a bit. This time, Dean doesn't open his mouth. He does not even flinch. Sam has a feeling that if Dad was to shove his finger down the hole, Dean would not so much as twitch. No, Dad has basically told Dean to shut the fuck up unless he is willing to talk and that order Dean seems to understand just fine, thank you very much


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Doing Time

Author: Saberivojo

Characters: Sam, Dean and John

Summary: Dean gets hurt on a hunt but who is to blame? Growly!John, Hurt!Dean, Capable!Sam

XX

Sam watches Dad as he continues to debride Dean's wound. He hands Dean some penicillin and a Vicodin. Dean dry swallows without a comment. Dad ponders the hole some more, makes a decision.

"No sutures, Dean. I am afraid to close that up. Puncture wounds are a bitch. We'll keep it clean, and bandage it. It is gonna be sore as hell and you need to restrict use of that arm." Dad nods to Sam. "Gimme a hand here with this bandage."

And Sam does, they quickly dress Dean's wound. For two people who bang heads together on a routine basis, it occurs to Sam that he and Dad work pretty well together sometimes. That is scary thought. He doesn't ever see he and Dad agreeing on much. Ever. Everything Dad does irritates Sam to such a degree that just being in the same room sometimes creates friction.

Dad grabs a sling from the kit, gently moves Dean's arm into it. Sam watches as he contemplates the filthy flannel shirt going back on his son's newly disinfected shoulder. Despite the bandage Dad opts to leave it off. Sam can't blame him. The shirt is bloody and dirty. Sam would expect it was none too fresh when Dean threw it on this morning.

Dad touches Dean's forehead in a way that parents have done since the dawn of time. It is brief but gentle and for a moment it looks like Dean almost leans into the touch. Sam shakes his head. It would figure a father and son Winchester moment would involve antibiotics and blood.

Dad stands, leans back into a stretch, Sam watches as he rolls his shoulders. For the first time since his father walked in, Sam is aware of the stiffness in his movements. How he is guarding his left side. What is it with his family? Sam shakes his head again and feels the anger start fresh.

"Sam. You need to watch your brother. I need to get back and finish up" Dad doesn't say salt and burn, but Sam reckons that is what he will be doing. He figures that Dad doesn't want to open up the hole and make Dean bleed anymore but he doesn't say that either.

Typical.

"Is it going to be a problem with your…"Dad waves vaguely in the direction he came "camping thing?"

That shocks the hell out of Sam, because lord knows Dad could care less about the camp and the fact that he even remembered that is where Sam was supposed to be is remarkable.

"Nah, tonight is Fire Rings and Ghost Stories, then a Snipe Hunt. They will never miss me."

Dad literally stops in his tracks. "Did you say Snipe Hunt?" His father actually offers an honest laugh, then continues on," I haven't heard of that since I was in Boy Scouts."

Shock number two. Dad was in Boy Scouts? The things you learn when you don't

expect it. Sam turns to see if this insight has made any impression on Dean, but the

Vicodin has kicked in and he is snoring.

Dad nods at Dean all business again. "Concussion watch, Sam. Follow protocol."

"Yes, sir."

And with that, Dad leaves. Sam listens to the familiar sound of the Impala as he pulls away.

Sam pulls the chair up snug to the bed. His brother so big, and brave and mouthy looks vulnerable, no shirt, arm in a sling, features slack with opiate induced sleep. Sam resists the urge to crawl up in bed next to him. He is not a little kid anymore and Sam is the one who needs to watch out for Dean tonight. Still, even with Dean sleeping and out of it, just sitting next to him makes Sam feel safer. Which is stupid. Dean has a bum arm and is high on Vicodin.

Sam figures that hole has to hurt like hell so he lets him sleep. But he might be concussed so an hour or so into the vigil, Sam rouses Dean.

"Dean." Nothing

"Dean, wake up." Nothing.

"DEAN!"

Dean jumps, bangs his head on the back of the shack. "What the hell are you yellin' for?"

Dean reaches back to rub the newly bumped head, but it is nowhere near where the egg-sized lump so Sam figures it is alright.

"So Sleeping Beauty, how are ya feelin'"

"Shitty, Sam. I'm feelin' shitty. Where's Dad?"

"Finishin' up."

"By himself?"

Sam gives Dean the bitchiest face he can. "Of course by himself, Dean. You have a concussion and a hole in your arm. I'm pretty sure he's got it."

Dean tries to push himself off the bed, looks like he is ready to drop his feet on the floor and take off after Dad.

"Whoa, Tiger." Sam pushes Dean back down on the bed, maybe using a little more force than necessary, but Sam has been on the receiving end of Dean's strength and determination, so he doesn't want to take a chance.

"Dad wants you to sit tight, he'll be back soon enough." Sam has a feeling if Dean could cross his arms he would, and it makes him laugh out loud to see Dean's frustrated, angry face. But Dean never stays angry very long, and Dad wants him to stay - so anger turns to resignation, he winces as he adjusts his arm in the sling.

"D'ya want some Tylenol or something. Can't have another of the big guns yet."

Dean shakes his head. "M'Okay."

"Sure you are." Sam settles back in the chair, eyes his big brother with what he hopes looks like a stern look.

"So, are you gonna tell me what happened?"

Dean drops his head, then meets his little brother's eyes.

"You can't let him know, Sammy. If I tell ya, it is between you and me. I gotta know that you are gonna keep that yap of yours shut."

"Dean, I've got your back, I won't tell. Promise." Sam feels like he needs some kind of addendum like "Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle, in my eye" bullshit because Dean really means this.

"Sam, I need your word, bro. No matter what'cha think about it or whatever." Sam nods. Whatever it is, Dean's secret is safe with him.

"I fucked up, Sammy. It was stupid and dumb." Dean won't look at Sam, his head is down and Sam swears there is a hitch in his voice.

"I was backing him up, Sam, just behind him, he knew where I was Sammy but I guess in the mix up, in the fight, he didn't see. I shoulda been watching out, Sam." Dean does look at Sam now, "You know how hot it can get, how fuckin' crazy. Consecrated rounds flying and it was a fugly thing, Sam. I was too close. Far too close." Dean's breath hitched again, if Sam didn't know any better he would swear Dean was crying. But Winchesters don't cry.

Dean stops then. Runs the back of his hand under his nose.

"Dad didn't mean to Sam, he never knew, never even realized he had nailed me. Knocked me straight into the iron fence." Dean pauses, takes a breath, "I always figured those pointy things would hurt like hell if you impaled yourself on them." Dean tries to lighten the story up. "Always figured it would be my balls slammin' into them, not my shoulder. Guess I should feel lucky, huh?"

"He threw you into the fucking fence?" Sam can't believe this. "What about all of his Marine bullshit….know where your man is. Pay attention, boy. A good soldier knows where his team is! Shit, Dean he has drilled that into us since we were old enough carry a fuckin' gun and he can't even be aware of where you are."

"Sam." Dean is quiet, soft. "He didn't know. It was my job to back him up, my job to keep my distance. My job, Sam." And Dean believes this. Sam tilts his head, furrows his brow. Of course, this is Dean's fault.

"So what did you do, Dean? Just un-impale yourself from the iron fence?"

"Yeah, basically, except it hurt like a bitch and I wasn't thinking too clearly, banged the hell out of my head a few minutes later. Just plain stupid, Sam."

Sam stands, shoves back the chair in a wave of anger. "So this is Dad's fault, Dean. Dad's fault and you are not even going to let him know. Hell, call it a fuckin' debrief or something, he needs to know, he needs to know he FUCKED UP."

Dean is out of bed fast, far faster than he should be able to move. He fists Sam's collar. Shakes him hard with the good arm.

"Don't you tell'im, Sam. Do. Not. Tell. Him. This is my choice. My choice and you promised. I will kick your ass, I will knock you up one side and down the other if you so much as breathe a word to him." Dean is growling low, a rumble that sounds so much like Dad that Sam almost does a double take.

Dean is in his face, flushed, a little high, but he means every word. Dean gives him another shake to punctuate the conversation. Sam's eyes blaze back at Dean. Yeah, Dean could and probably will kill him if he says anything but Sam has already decided.

He breathes a little harsh, maybe it has something to do with Dean's fist and his proximity to his wind pipe. Maybe not.

"M' not tellin' Dean. I promised."

Dean relaxes, almost falls boneless at Sam's feet. Sam grabs him and gently moves him back to the bed. Sam cradles Dean's shoulders and neck, eases him back onto the filthy mattress.

Even though it makes Sam mad. Even though Dean is wrong, Sam is relieved to see the relaxation as his brother melts into the bed.

"Thanks, Sammy." Dean barely whispers the words.

Sam nods, he isn't happy with this at all but there's not much he can do about it. He tries another tract to get it through to Dean's concussed brain.

"Dude, he let it go tonight. But he isn't going to let it go forever. He's gonna wanna know. He is gonna expect an answer."

"Let me worry about it. I'll figure something out."

"Jesus, Dean you're gonna be doing PT 'till your 30."

Dean arches his brow. "Probably 40." But he grins, pats his naked belly. "Abs of steel, Sammy, I can take it. It's just gonna make perfection better."

Sam shakes his head but offers a lopsided grin of his own. Only Dean would find a way to put a positive spin on the punishment he is bound to get out of this.

It makes Sam angry, angry that Dean's gonna be in hot water for something Dad did. But more than that, Dad won't know. Won't be able to be held responsible. He can hear Dad's mantra about consequences to your actions. Because lord knows, Sam and Dean have both heard that one before.

Sam sighs. Rakes his hand across his hair. Damn, Dean. Damn, Dad. Damn, this camping trip too.

Sam, leans back in the chair, watches as Dean tries to make himself comfortable on the shitty mattress. Dean is drifting off again, the boy might be able to drink a sailor under the table but Vicodin knocks him on his ass. Always has.

There is a moment of companionable silence. Yeah, his brother irritates Sam sometimes almost as much as his father. But it is okay. It has to be.

So he is missing a Snipe hunt and ghost stories. Not too far away there is camp full of kids, giggling at the terror of a scary story. Laughing about hunting Snipes. That is not his life, never has been. He briefly thinks he should be missing it. The fun and the silliness. Maybe he should; but there is no place he would rather be right now than watching out for Dean.

So he closes watches his brother. Waits for the morning or his father, whatever comes first.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Doing Time

Author: Saberivojo

Characters: Sam, Dean and John

Summary: Dean gets hurt on a hunt but who is to blame? Growly!John, Hurt!Dean, Capable!Sam

XX

Dad doesn't buy Dean's explanation. Dean tells him he fell, he lost his balance and fell on the fence. Dad knows he is lying. People don't just fall with enough impact to drive a fence spear through their shoulders. Sam says nothing. He wrinkles his nose as if something smells bad, because it kind of does. But he doesn't do anything else.

Dad glares at Dean, crosses his arms across his chest in the John Winchester version of pissed beyond belief. Then he turns his head and pins Sam with a look that usually would have him dropping his eyes. But Sam doesn't move and Dean won't budge. It turns out that together Sam and Dean are pretty formidable.

That fall Dean gains 10 pounds of muscle with all the extra PT Dad dumps on him. Not once does he back down, not once does he complain. Not about the early hours, the reps, the lack of fairness of it all. Dean does crunches, pushups and logs an enormous amount of miles. Nothing changes. And Sam can't get Dean to spill to Dad and Dad won't back down. Because he knows Dean is lying to him. Sam knows that John Winchester doesn't really need proof of what happened in that graveyard but he wants it and Dean won't give it.

It turns out the only thing more stubborn than a Winchester is another Winchester.

So late October, not quite Halloween, they head out together. Dad on point, Sam in the middle, Dean walking drag. Simple salt and burn, that's what Dad says. Sam doesn't care. He just wants it over. He has an AP Trig test I the morning and he is tired. His father doesn't care about Trig tests and AP classes so all Sam's bitching really does is serve to piss him off. Sam knows it. Still doesn't care. They have gone over the plan several times. Dad likes to be prepared, likes to know that each boy knows what his job is. Sam has "yes,sirred" in the appropriate places. Has nodded his head in others. Sam watches the grave, Dad and Dean dig. Accelerant, fire, burn the damn thing then go home.

But something gets fucked up and in the heat of the fight. Sam forgets the plan. He just plain forgets where Dean should be. There is no real excuse for it except that Sam is fifteen and scared. Because this salt and burn has morphed into something a lot worse. Yeah, Dean is supposed to be digging but when everything goes bad, Dean is supposed to focus on Sam, protect Sam. That is a standing order. Has been for years. Sam is scared and forgets when he shoots the sawed off at the crash ahead of him. He hears the yelp of Dean. "Shit, Sam. Watch what the fuck you are aiming at." His brother's voice comes from just inside the tree line.

Sam spins. The grave is both lacking his father and Dean. Dean is supposed to be digging, how in the hell did he get ahead of Sam in the forest. Then he remembers the alternative plan if the situation gets SNAFUd and really, that is the natural state of affairs as far as Sam is concerned. There is no reason for him not to remember where Dean is supposed to be. None at all.

There is a howl in the forest then the rapid fire of silver bullets hitting something meaty. Definitely not a spirit. And then it is quiet. All Sam hears is his own breathing harsh and deep. He listens but hears nothing else. A moment later his father steps out of the tree line followed by Dean. Even in the moonlight Sam can see the resolute expression on his father's face. Dean looks fine, carries his shotgun easily in his arms.

"Samuel, get your ass over here, now."

Sam double times it to dad. The order is low and rough. Sam knows he is in deep shit now. No doubt.

"What the fuck were you aiming at, Sam? Can you tell me what the hell prompted you to shoot a loaded shot gun blind into those woods? You missed Dean by inches. What is the first rule about guns, Sam? Know what you are shooting at." John rakes a hand across his hair, "You could have killed somebody. Jesus, Sam."

Sam hangs his head, takes another deep breath. Fuck. How the hell did he miss where Dean was.

"M'Sorry Dad. I thought he was still diggin' I thought he couldn't have gotten into those woods so fast. I …I guess I wasn't thinkin'"

"Exactly, Sam you were not thinking. Know where your man is for chrisake."

"Dad I…"

"Not another word, Sam."

"But…"

"Sam, do not make me say it again."

Sam shuts his mouth audibly. He does not want to piss his father off anymore than he has already has.

"I want your ass in the Impala. Now. Your brother and I will finish this up."

Sam is not usually one to obey blindly but in this case he is happy to get out of Dodge, he trots off quickly in the direction of the Impala.

The drive home is silent. No radio. No words. Nothing. Sam thinks that he might cry but he refuses to do that so he just looks out the back seat passenger side window. There is nothing to see. Nothing to talk about but he expects there will be bunches when they make it back to the motel.

Dad drives the car right up to the room. Doesn't even tell the boys what to do, he just heads into the motel room while the boys grab the duffels. There is a moment, while Dad is in the room and the boys are slinging duffels when Sam briefly looks at Dean. "Dean, I'm sorry."

"Don't worry, turd, I got it." Dean reaches out to briefly ruffle Sam's hair, something that tends to irritate Sam usually but right now it feels like he has been physically absolved from all of the stupidity that he has created tonight.

Dad barks from the motel room. "Boys!"

They turn together and Sam follows Dean into the room.

Sam is more than a little nervous when he walks in the room to see his father standing in the center of the room. Arms crossed, expression grim.

"Tonight was totally irresponsible, Sam. You need to realize there are consequences to your actions. The least of which is shooting your brother full of rock salt!"

Dad voice is not terribly loud but it packs a punch. Sam barely moves.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

"Dad," Dean's voice is quiet. "It was just an accident, Sam'll be more careful next time, wontcha, Sam?"

Dad turns on Dean, jabs an index finger into Dean's chest. "You stop defending him. Sam knows what happened tonight was his fault. All because he didn't follow directions. Didn't pay attention to what was going on around him. Didn't follow the plan. Know where your man is, Dean. That is Hunter 101." Then he turns to Sam "You know better than this. I taught you better than this."

Sam steels himself for the barrage. He lets the duffle slide out of his hands an fall up against the bed. He looks at his father's face, but finds that too difficult so he allows his eyes to drop to the carpet.

"What I oughta do is tan your hide right here and now, Sam." Dad's hand hovers near his belt. Sam doesn't even make a protest. His father has never whacked him with a belt, not once in fifteen years, but he figures that almost killing his brother is a transgression that would demand the most severe punishment. He briefly wonders how hard it will be to run laps tomorrow with his butt smoking from the ass whippin' he gets tonight.

"Dad." Dean steps up toward his father. John turns to drive a glare into his eighteen year old.

"I told you to keep your yap shut, Dean. This is between your brother and me."

Sam lifts his head to see Dean squares his shoulder. "No Dad, it is not between you and Sam. It is between you, Sam and me."

Dad rounds on Dean, eyes burning at the insubordination. "Since when do you tell me who or what something is or isn't" Dad is growling low, his voice deadly. But Dean doesn't back down, doesn't step back.

"Since the graveyard and Sam's camp, Dad." Dean's voice is quiet but determined. Sam admires how sure his brother speaks, the lack of tremor in his voice. Maybe part of that is because he is shaking himself.

Dad narrows his eyes, and if he can get angrier looking he does. "Why son, is there something you wanna tell me about that night?" He steps closer to Dean. "Something you wanna share with your old man?" Dad's voice is quieter than before.

For a moment Sam thinks Dean is gonna break. Because Sam would have long before now. But Dean doesn't. There is no outward sign of rebellion or disobedience. Sam would have rolled his eyes or thrust out his chin defiantly, but Dean does none of those things. He just stills.

"Yes, sir."

"I'm waiting, son."

"I never told you the complete truth that night, Dad."

For the first moment since the whole exchange started, Sam can see Dad offer a bit of a smile. It is a grim smile without a whole lot of appeal but Sam feels a little relieved to see the stony visage change just a bit.

"Go on."

Dean meets his father's eyes squarely. "That night, Dad, I didn't fall into the fence. You…" Dean's voice falters momentarily. "You knocked me into the fence. I was backing you up, where you told me to be and you just got busy or caught up in the hunt or whatever. And you shoved me into the fence, Dad. You weren't watchin' out, you didn't know where your man was. So Dad, if you can make a mistake like that, then Sammy could make a mistake like that. Anybody could make a mistake like that, Dad. It could happen. " Dean talks a little fast, rambles just a bit but Sam can't blame him for that.

Sam stands as tall as he can next to his brother. He watches as his father looks hard at his brother. Assessing the information. Cataloging it away in his brain.

"So I am the reason you walked around with a hole in your shoulder for a month?" Dad almost sounds like he is talking to himself, but he is still addressing Dean, or at least Sam thinks so.

Dean obviously thinks so too. "Yes, sir."

"And instead of coming clean that night, you let me go on thinking it was something you did. Some mistake you were not willing to admit to but the reality was, it was me."

"Yes, sir."

"You knew this too, I take it Sammy?"

"Yes, sir."

Dad sits down abruptly on the bed, leaves the boys standing at attention in front of him. He rubs a hand across his chin, breathes a deep sigh, and drops his head. Sam waits for him to make a move. For the other shoe to fall, for something to happen. But it doesn't. Dad just sits for a moment, almost as if the boys were not standing in front of him.

"Jesus." Dad mutters so low that Sam almost can't make it out.

"Boys, I don't know what to say." Dad still sounds low and rumbly but there is no menace in his voice.

He lifts his head up and eyes both boys. "There is a part of me that wants to kick both of your asses for not coming clean. " He shakes his head. "You just don't get it do you?"

His voice is soft, resigned but there is underlying steel.

Both boys offer each other a brief sideway glance. Simultaneously they rivet their eyes back to their father. Sam knows that Dean is confused as he is.

"Boys, we are a team. A unit. Yeah, I'm the CO but I depend on you boys to do your jobs, to step up to the plate, and to follow orders. That includes…" Dad stops drills both Sam and Dean hard with his eyes, drops his voice to indicate the seriousness of what he is going to say." a debrief that discusses exactly what went wrong and how we can make it better next time. The only thing good about making a mistake is learning from it and making sure it does not happen again. Which, in my opinion, is why getting punished for said mistake helps drive home the point, makes it a little easier to remember not to do it next time. But that is the key, boys, because in this job, next time could be our last time."

Dad stops to let that sink in a minute. Sam doesn't want to really think about a hunt going so badly wrong that one of them don't walk away from it. He thinks about that enough on his own. He hadn't really thought about Dad wanting to correct an error he made himself. Mainly, because while Sam feels John Winchester makes lots of mistakes on a routine basis, when it comes to hunting his father is like a superhero. He is solid and capable and as close to indestructible as Sam can imagine. So Dad making a mistake and then fixing it? It never crossed his mind. Sam cocks his head, arches an eyebrow in Dean's direction.

Dean looks like he is thinking along the same line as Sam. Digesting the info that Dad gave him trying to figure it out.

"So, how are we gonna solve this?" Dad addresses both boys, stands up. Neither boy moves.

"Dean." Dad looks at Dean. They are almost eye-to-eye. John is broader heavier, but Sam can see where his big brother has caught up with the man in terms of height. "You have done enough punishment PT for the last two months. I was punishing you for the wrong thing, but that is your fault not mine. If you had just told me the truth it would've saved you a hell of a lot of running this fall." Dean nods, Sam sees him grin slowly because it is the truth. He has worn his way through one pair of sneakers.

"Sam, you are not off the hook. Tonight you were wrong. Scared, stressed, tired. No excuse. You need to pull up your big boy pants and man the fuck up. Watch out for what you are doing and pay attention. It needs to be second nature. I want all of us working on moving as a team. Not just guessing where each one of us is but knowing it. Especially you two boys. We are all gonna drill on this. And Sam, it is gonna piss the hell out of you, but you are gonna do it. Just like me and Dean. You two are more important to me than slackin' off because we don't feel like workin' hard to make this team tight."

Dad stops for a minute. Takes a deep breath then rakes a hand through his hair. Sam watches as he studies him, knows Dad is working on what punishment is in store for Sam.

"Sam, you are grounded. Won't make much a difference, I suppose but I want you staying home when you are not training. I want an essay on teamwork and why it is important and you better make sure that your sneakers are in good shape 'cause you are gonna be increasing your miles and extra PT for the next month." Dad stops again, Sam watches as his dad starts to smile, shakes his head as if he can't believe the next words out of his mouth.

"And me? I fucked up, Dean. You had to suffer for it. I can't quite ground myself can I?" The smile quickly turns into a laugh. It is a rumble, deep and comfortable. Both boys look at each other. Dad doesn't laugh often like that. Sam thinks it sounds good. "Sam, you aren't goin' to be running alone. Oh five hundred tomorrow and for the next month, it is you and me. While, Sleepin' Beauty is getting' his beauty rest tomorrow, we are gonna be hustlin' through enough PT that both of us will think twice about fucking up again."

Sam's eyes widen. Dean and Sam exchange an amazed glance. Did dad just punish himself? What the fuck?

Dad steps up to the boys, pulls them both into a rough hug, one arm slung over each shoulder.

"Sammy, if you can out crunch me, maybe we can re-think the full month huh?" Sam smiles, that ain't never gonna happen but he takes his father's hug, leans into it like there is no tomorrow. Sam can't help this family he was born into. Can't help that is dad is an asshole and a pain in the butt but he figures that it will be okay. Well, okay as far as Winchester standards.

And that will have to do.

end


End file.
